


two lions at midnight

by Aegialia



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aegialia/pseuds/Aegialia
Summary: When he first met Diomedes, Odysseus didn’t think much of him
Relationships: Diomedes & Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Diomedes/Odysseus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Kudos: 15





	two lions at midnight

When he first met Diomedes, Odysseus didn’t think much of him. He was good at understanding people, how they worked, why they did what they did, and they rarely surprised him. So when Diomedes, son of Tydeus, king of Argos, youngest at the council, and commander of two earlier wars, was introduced at the first meeting of the generals, Odysseus already knew what sort of a man he was. He’d be overconfident from his experience, but blustering to cover up his youth, desperate to prove he’d surpassed his father. No doubt he was a capable warrior, and his time at war might have left him with some talent for strategy, but no one particularly interesting. There were a dozen men with stories just like his who’d also razed Thebes and there was no indication that Tydides would be any different.

If he’d been less caught up in gaging the speeches of all the commanders, maybe Odysseus would have noticed that Diomedes stayed quiet for the rest of the meeting. It wasn’t an important meeting—discussing strategy and supplies would come later, this was strictly introductory, a chance for the kings to posture and boast and pontificate, the perfect environment for the sort of man he’d assumed Diomedes was. But the Argive king sat silent through Agamemnon’s rallying speeches and Nestor’s rambling stories. If Odysseus had been less busy watching the others, maybe he’d have noticed he was being watched himself.

The first time he really noticed Diomedes was at the next meeting. They were discussing the camp arrangements for the troops when he pointed out a flaw in Agamemnon’s plan for the kitchens. It wasn’t anything of great importance, though it could have made life rather unpleasant once they reached Troy if it hadn’t been dealt with: the delivery, not the content, was what made it interesting. He said it with utter confidence, but without arrogance, neither disrespectful nor deferential in challenging the commander of the army. The others changed the plans without any particular interest in the man who’d proposed it, but Odysseus was intrigued. He leaned back, intending to observe him and perhaps figure out what he’d missed in his initial assumptions, and found Diomedes was already watching him. He glanced away, catching a glimpse of his quick grin before turning to Menelaus’s questions about wheat.

—

He’d always liked a puzzle and Diomedes proved to be a fascinating one. When he’d speak in council, it was clear he knew more about the realities of war than any of them, even Nestor, but he never relied on his experience to force his opinion, only calling on his war stories occasionally to demonstrate some point. He never spoke about Tydeus. He didn’t speak much, which might point to respect for his elders, but when he did speak, it was without regard for rank or seniority. Sthenelus and Euryalus never gave any indication of anger at being commanded by a younger man and his soldiers seemed loyal, respectful, and even fond towards him. Under the surface, there always seemed to be quiet, simmering anger, carefully hidden. Odysseus had never seen him give into it, but it was always there, in meetings, where Diomedes would always give a look of contempt at particularly foolish plans and braggarts before he’d school his expression back to neutrality, and in the brutal force he threw into training. This rage never seemed particularly bothered by comments throw at him about his age, about honor, about his family: the closest he’d seen him come to snapping was always over how others acted rather than what they thought of him. The more Odysseus unraveled, the less he understood.

It wasn’t like he spent all his time spying on the man. He’d barely spoken to him outside of meetings and never about anything particularly personal, and he had plenty to do as a commander. But organizing the logistics of a war was brutally dull and Diomedes was not. Trying to figure him out was a harmless hobby, balancing out the crushing boredom and exhaustion of preparing for a war he had no desire to fight.

—

He’d been away from home before, of course, but never for very long. Never for long enough for him to notice how the wind smelled wrong, how the waves crashed differently on a rocky rather than sandy beach, how he couldn’t quite get comfortable on a bedroll. Never for long enough to realize just how used he’d gotten to another body sleeping next to him.

The camp was never quiet. Even past midnight, he still could hear the murmur of men around their fires, animals snuffling, wind flapping through the tents. He gave up on sleep for the night and walked towards the beach. On the rocky shore, the rolling waves finally drowned out the sounds from the camp. The moon was waxing, a barely visible crescent, leaving the stars bright and clear. He sat on a large, smooth stone and breathed in the sea air, eyes closed. If he didn’t think too hard, he could almost pretend that he was still on Ithaka.

“Isn’t it as little late for a stroll?” said a voice, seemingly from nowhere.

Odysseus fell backwards and looked around wildly. A shadow he’d taken to be a rock moved, rearranging itself into Diomedes. He sat casually among a jumble of great jagged stones, leaning on his spear. Despite the late hour, he wore a cuirass and a sword at his side.

Once he’d caught his breath, Odysseus replied, “Clearly not, since we’re both out here.”

Diomedes laughed. “That two men do it doesn’t mean it can’t be odd.”

“I suppose not.”

Diomedes seemed content to let the conversation lapse into quiet, looking out over the sea. Odysseus watched him. Finally, he asked, “So why are you out so late?”

“I don’t sleep much as a rule. You?”

“I suppose I haven’t adjusted yet.”

“To the tents?”

“To the tents, to the camp, to all of this. I’m not used to being here.”

“Homesick?”

He looked over at him sharply. Diomedes didn’t seem to be mocking him, as he’d expected. He was looking at him with an odd, almost curious expression.

“Yes. Never thought I was particularly attached to Ithaka until now.”

“What’s it like?”

“Ithaka? Small. Mostly forests. Far too many goats,” he said, glancing over cautiously. “Are you…? Do you ever get…?”

“Not particularly. I think I’ve spent more time fighting wars and dealing with allies than actually ruling in Argos. At this point, I sleep better in a tent than in a palace.”

“So what keeps the king of Argos from his bed, if not homesickness?”

Diomedes looked at him, steady and appraising. He seemed to reach a conclusion and said, “Bad dreams.”

“That’s a more candid answer than I was expecting.”

“So was yours. Fair’s fair.”

“About the wars, I’d assume?”

“Of course. Though,” he said with a flashing grin, “I saw a man gored to death by an ox when I was very young and I suppose I still dream about that sometimes.”

He leaned back. “Don’t worry. By the time you get used to the tents, I’m sure you’ll have picked up some horrible dreams to keep you up through the night.”

“What a wonderful thing to look forward to!”

They settled back into a companionable silence. After a few moments, Diomedes asked, “I hear you tried to avoid the war. That true?”

Odysseus winced. “Yes. Want to denounce me as a coward now or will you be saving that for a council meeting?”

“If there’s something at home that’s worth more to you than all the glory and wealth you could get in war, then it’s no surprise you’d try to stay. Not particularly heroic, but sensible. As long as you pull your weight now that you’re here and don’t start proclaiming yourself the bravest and boldest of all the Achaeans, I don’t care,” he replied, shrugging.

“Hm. Not what I’d expect from someone with your reputation.”

“And what’s my reputation?”

“Well, you led and fought in two great wars as a beardless youth.”

“Which taught me that I’d rather fight by someone who knows he’s a coward than someone who thinks he’s a great courageous hero.”

“You’re not what I expected in general.”

“Oh, you’re exactly what I expected,” Diomedes replied with a grin.

“I can’t imagine that much of what I got up to on Ithaka would have reached your ears.”

“A mutual friend of ours spoke highly of you.”

“I wasn’t aware we shared any of those.”

“‘Friend’ might be a bit much. Let’s say a mutual patron.”  
“Wait, do you mean Athena?”  
“Who else?”  
“She spoke about me? Directly?”

“No, she encouraged me to get to know the prince of Ithaka through a very complicated series of bird omens.” Seeing Odysseus’s stunned expression, Diomedes laughed. “To be clear, that was meant to be a joke. Yes, she spoke over you directly and in glowing terms.”

“You must be very favored to speak so clearly with a goddess.”

“For now.”

“Did you do something to offend her?”

“Not that I know of, but only a fool assumes he’ll receive the blessing of the gods forever.”

Odysseus smiled up at the man perched among the rocks. “You’re a much stranger man than you seem at first, Diomedes.”

He laughed. “Not going to try and phrase that in some polite, clever way?”  
“It’s only polite to respect your clear fondness for honestly.”

“Ah, of course. I’ll try this Ithakan politeness out myself: I think you’re just as dangerously cunning as you seem to be.”

“Oh, what flattery! You’re a born diplomat.”

“Maybe I should try out this sort of courtesy out at the next council meeting.”

“I’m sure Nestor would appreciate it.”

“I think the shock might kill him.”

“Well, we can’t have that. I was lulled into the best sleep I’ve gotten in Aulis by his wonderful stories.”

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to find that line between making the language too archaic and too modern is a nightmare, especially with dialogue.  
> I'd like to expand this to explore these two throughout the war! I've never written a WiP before, so we'll see how that goes.


End file.
